


i want trees instead of gravestones (and nothing to confess)

by JackyM



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Character Study, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Introspection, Jon Sims Is A Good Boyfriend, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Religion, Spoilers for The Magnus Archives Season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:46:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26375188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackyM/pseuds/JackyM
Summary: It’d been a while since he’d really, genuinely thought about reality, or what sat beyond it. About what people tended to think sat beyond it, and whether or not that held any truth.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Martin Blackwood’s Mother, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 4
Kudos: 46





	i want trees instead of gravestones (and nothing to confess)

**Author's Note:**

> THAT LINE IN EPOCH ABOUT HOW HIS MOTHER WAS RELIGIOUS BUT HE WASN'T GOT ME OKAY!!!! 8,3 I am Projecting again. 
> 
> Fhghg I said I wouldn't do any Season 5 fic because I wasn't sure how well it gelled with me and...I am eating those words. >w<
> 
> The title is song lyrics! The song lyrics are from Big Houses by Squalloscope! 
> 
> Also also! My Tumblr is blackwoodesquire if you'd like to follow me there!

Something about that place had definitely encouraged existential rumination. That in and of itself didn’t surprise Martin, not really; all of these places, these “domains”, as Jon called them, seemed like they provoked some kind of tangential thought process. What surprised him more was where that thought process took him. It’d been a while since he’d really, genuinely thought about reality, or what sat beyond it. About what people tended to think sat beyond it, and whether or not that held any truth. 

Martin wanted to believe in something good and omniscient that existed outside of reality, something that looked out for humanity even in its darkest moments. Something to contradict all of the fear of humanity-borne chaos that the Extinction domain exuded. Something that could give people more hope that humanity wasn’t bad, that humanity wasn’t inherently destructive. But his only context for what a being like this might be was soured for him, and it hurt to think about it. 

So he didn’t. 

Or, at least, he tried not to. 

They’d been away from the grip of the Extinction for a short while, now, and Martin still hadn’t said anything since they left. He could’ve; something about seeing Daisy and Basira again, but he couldn’t find the words. Truth be told, he didn’t know either of them that well, and didn’t really know what he _could_ say about either of them. And he knew that there was no way either of them were doing well, not when the world was like this, so there was no point in asking that, either. So, as it turned out, he was more content following his train of thought back in the Extinction domain than he was dwelling on how poorly Daisy and Basira were probably doing. 

Jon took notice of Martin's quietude, his eyes darkened with concern, but he didn’t say anything. Several paces ahead of Martin, he stopped walking, and waited for Martin to catch up to him. Martin felt Jon’s hand reaching for his. Thin, surprisingly warm fingers slid between Martin’s, and Martin squeezed them, gently. 

They walked like that for a while. The silence was uncomfortable, though not on Martin’s part or Jon’s. It was more ambient, an almost buzzing thing that seemed to take joy in how nothing at all was making an attempt to cut through it. Martin swallowed, thickly, and kept holding Jon’s hand, trying to focus on how it felt in his. Jon stopped walking for a moment, still holding onto Martin’s hand so that Martin stopped with him, holding Martin’s arm with his hands now. Martin looked at Jon, quizzically. “Something up?”

“I was about to ask you that,” said Jon, rubbing up and down Martin’s arm with his hand. “You seem...rather out of it.”

“Oh. Well. It’s nothing.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah. And _please_ , don’t look in my head to verify that.”

“I-I wasn’t going to,” Jon shook his head, “I’m just worried, that’s all. About your feelings. After what you said in the Extinction domain, about...” he trailed off, his hands freezing along Martin’s arm, but Martin knew what he meant. 

“It’s...it’s nothing like that. Or, or maybe it is, a little bit, but...nothing like you’re probably thinking.”

“If you’re sure. I just needed to know if you were alright.”

“I am sure.”

Jon nodded, bringing his hand back into Martin’s and squeezing it. “Right. I’m sorry.”

Martin furrowed his brow. “For what?”

“I don’t know. Probing, I suppose.”

Martin smiled, squeezing Jon’s hand back. “It’s not probing to ask how I’m doing. I’m as alright as I can be, I was just...just thinking. About what we were talking about, back there, because it...well, it’s, it’s not fun to think about. But it’s better than thinking about Daisy and Basira being at each other’s throats, I guess.”

“Yes, I,” Jon laughed a little, “I certainly can understand that. Come to any major conclusions?”

“Well, no,” Martin lazily swooped his fingers across Jon’s hand, “I haven’t. Nothing I didn’t already think already. I...I guess I always had trouble believing that there could be some huge source of benevolence outside of reality. Even when I was a kid, I don’t know how much I really bought it. I mean, I...I wanted to. But at the end of the day I...I don’t know. I just didn’t. Mum always did, though. Even when she was in too much pain or too tired to...to practice it, to go to masses. She still believed in all of it.”

Martin felt Jon’s hand tighten around his. A silent word of comfort. Then a physical word of comfort, quiet, sympathetic, no longer than it needed to be. “Martin, I’m...I’m sorry.”

Martin was quiet for a moment. He nodded, mumbled a small "it's okay", and started walking again, gently pulling Jon with him, indicating he was ready to start moving again. Jon wordlessly took the lead, glancing at Martin, still concerned, but not overwhelmingly so. 

Once their pace was consistent, Martin let his mind wander again. He didn’t want it to, not really. But it at least concerned something that felt further away to him, now. He thought about all the times he’d gone with his mother, before she got too sick to go every weekend, before simple things like going to the shops left her bed bound for two days. 

Before his father left, even. He remembered how little he’d wanted to go, even then. Something about it felt wrong. Maybe it was how two people who fought so often, who seemed to hate each other, who took it out on him sometimes, claimed to be dedicated to something that had love at its core, claimed to love each other even though Martin rarely saw evidence of that. They weren’t fighting, they’d say, just disagreeing. Disagreeing, loudly, their voices aggressive and hateful. 

It only got worse when his father wasn’t around anymore, when his mother would force him into going with her. In a way, maybe she was trying to help him. Maybe. On her worse days, she’d yell about his lack of faith, his lack of a moral compass in his life, accuse him of lying when he tried to convince her otherwise. And she was right, he _was_ lying, because he didn’t believe in any of what she believed in. A part of him had always wanted to, still wanted to. The idea that someone, or something, watched over the universe with only the best intentions was a nice thing to believe in. But he could never bring himself to believe something that was objectively good would _want_ people to behave the way his mother did, looking at him with such resentment. She always said she was doing what she felt she was supposed to, what God wanted her to do.

Sometimes it made sense, with the volunteer work she used to do before she had trouble going out as much. But how much of that translated to her treatment of her him, bitter and forceful and stubborn, Martin didn’t know. So he never had a good excuse for her when she asked where his faith was, in tense questions, in shouts, in physical contact, when it was a really bad day for her.

Martin never had much guilt in moving away from the religion his mother was so dedicated to, so convinced she was practicing correctly. As much as a part of him wanted to be optimistic in there being some structure behind everything, the whole concept of it was altogether soured for him. Hard to feel guilty about no longer feeling a part of something he knew he'd never really been a part of to begin with. It was too hard to be a part of it, always had been. It made him think of of his mother, of his father. Of the ways his mother's belief became embittered and angry as the years went by. Of how, if her particular way of thinking had been right all along, she’d be somewhere ethereal and nice right now, being rewarded for everything she’d done in her lifetime. The thought made his stomach flip and his eyes sting. The thought confused him, stirred conflict in him. He didn't like thinking that she'd done _nothing but right_ in her lifetime, but he liked thinking that she had done _anything_ _wrong_ in her lifetime even less. He felt like he might be sick.

He stopped walking again, wiping one of his eyes. Jon turned around to look at him, and when Martin caught his gaze, he saw what Jon was asking, his eyes soft, worried, a little glassy, though Jon would never admit to being able to cry that easily. Martin smiled, sadly, and nodded. Jon slipped his hands under Martin’s, and Martin did the same. 

“I just never understood it,” Martin mumbled, shakily, into the crook of Jon’s neck, “how she could believe all that, believe she was doing something good and still...still be like _that_. I, I mean...I guess I know why but I...I hate to think about it.”

“It’s alright,” Jon whispered, softly, against Martin’s temples, “it’s alright. I hate to think about it too.”

“Then let’s...let’s just not think about it.”

“A good idea, I think.”

Martin kept his face against Jon’s neck, feeling how hot his tears were, how painfully they stung the edges of his eyes like an angry venom. Jon was burying his face against Martin’s chest and neck, the sensations of his movements sending something electric and warm through Martin.

It was something Jon did when hugging him, unfailingly. Gentle. Affectionate. Martin liked it. He let himself get lost in it, let it become his entire universe for just a moment. In this universe, at least, he knew there was a benevolence he could count on. 


End file.
